


Two Halves

by kittyyzma



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Skating, As in: A Place And A People, Asgard as an actual continent/country, But I can’t be contained, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Multi, Not Rated For Now but language warning?, The ice skating AU no one asked for, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-10-11 02:52:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyyzma/pseuds/kittyyzma
Summary: Thor Borsen is a newly-divorced Olympic figure skater disgraced by his performance at the Winter Olympics held in Sochi two and a half years ago; Brunnhilde “Rue” Siegmund, finds herself coming off an inconvenient knee injury with fears of being lost in the shuffle of ladies’ competition. Together,  they’re the faces of modern Asgardian figure skating.Or the one where two powerhouse athletes come together and realize maybe they’ve finally bitten off more than they can chew.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sugarcoated](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarcoated/gifts).



> HEY THERE! Thanks for joining me here. 
> 
> Let me start by saying I am in no way an expert on figure skating. (I took a years worth of lessons as a kid but that was so long ago—google has really been my friend—and really I’m just happy every time I put on a pair of skates and manage to not fall on my face.) To you skaters out there, I apologize if anything is wildly inaccurate—this is just meant to be a bit of fun and I hope you can enjoy the cuteness that is our favorite hot messes being struck dumb over one another. 
> 
> I’m here for all the Thorkyrie AU’s and I’m kinda surprised they’re not getting more love. Hopefully Endgame will change that. *fingers crossed* This is my contribution. Keep a look out for changes to rating, as I currently don’t have a plan for whether this will end up being NSFW reading or not. With me, it’s 50/50 chance lol
> 
> (When I say this is a work in progress... whew chil’)

_**‘14 Winter Olympics, Sochi** _

 

It’s one of few times in Asgard’s long history at the Winter Olympics, that a man has advanced in Men’s Singles figure skating competition. Not once, but _twice_ , Thor Borsen has made it this far when he hasn’t been meant to. His brother Loki has come close, placing 2nd and subsequently taking silver home himself when Thor was barely qualifying. He’d put the continent on the proverbial map—fielding ridiculous questions like: _If Asgard is a continent, how is it also a country?_ His answer had always been: _Like Australia—except cold pretty much_ **_all the time_ ** _._

 

In Vancouver four years ago, Thor won the gold—the only man skating under the Asgardian flag to ever win a gold medal in the sport. (The older brother has really come into his own as a skater. His musicality has always been something he’s struggled with, but as he’s matured, he’s been able to pack on to his technical score and it provides quite the buffer. In the media, he’s either praised or berated—some call him lazy, and others laud his athleticism.) Here in Sochi, he tries again, sitting above the rest as the top qualifier and 2013 world champion. There have been attempts, but he stands out with his fearless attack when he skates, his programs packed with jumps competitors always seem to try and either fail entirely or execute with sloppy, nearly scary technique. He is still only one of few men to tackle quadruple jumps in international competition. And every time they’re just as exhilarating to land.

 

This years games have gone off without a hitch for him, from the team event he so happened to anchor without so much as breaking a sweat, to now…his last day of competition with everyone expecting him to win. The gold medal is pretty much claimed, the others vying for the silver and bronze medals. But even someone as confident in their ability the way Thor is, he knows anything can happen. His coach Heimdall Petersen is confident enough, having done so much reassuring it’s set to last an entire lifetime.

 

But it’s almost as if the last week has gone too well. Even last year, when he’d skated the best short and free skates of his life. But at the end of the day, even with a medal around his neck, he’d still had the mother of all colds, and the most annoying and untimely plantar fasciitis he’d quietly suffered through. (It wasn't his brightest idea, and Heimdall made him promise to never do it again, but Thor was expecting _something_ leading up to this moment.)

 

“You’re being paranoid,” He mumbles to himself, sitting in the locker room. He’s not too far from the warm up for the night and is taking the next few moments to pull himself together. Only a crazy person sits and waits for something awful to happen. “Just… skate.”

 

“And please stop talking to yourself, brother,” Loki smiles, inky black hair pushed back. He’s comfortably dressed—for him anyway. His sweater is thick, a scarf keeping out the perpetual chill from the ice. He’s on crutches, a reminder of blowing out his knee during his short the day before. Yesterday, because of his awful skate, Thor added a quad lutz and triple loop to make up the difference for the team event.

 

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Thor rolls his eyes as his baby brother laughs.

 

“And miss your skate? No.” He shakes his head, setting the crutches aside to topple rather ungracefully onto the couch beside his fellow skater. “ _Why_ are you hoping for disaster?”

 

“I’m not—“

 

“I can see it written all over your face…and Heimdall knows. Which is _why_ I’m here,” Loki chuckles, watching the journey on his brother’s face. “He and mother say you looked…uncomfortable.”

 

Thor throws himself backward rather haphazardly before pressing his hands to his face. “I haven’t heard from Jane.”

 

Loki nearly chokes, guffawing. “You can’t be serious? That’s the problem… _right_ now?”

 

“She’s my wife,” Thor argues rather lamely,  but wirh brows pulled in and a petulant scowl. “And she knows you’ve never liked her—“

 

“Let’s not act as if I _despise_ the woman.” Loki rolls his clear blue eyes, clicking his tongue at the roof of his mouth, “you know, I really resent the implication….” he gives his brother a weary glance, chuckling through it awkwardly, “I just don’t think…well, she’s not here, is she? And not only did you move to _America_ for her, Middle-of-Nowhere, New Mexico of all places…I don’t think it would have killed her to show up for the biggest moment of your _life!”_

 

Thor watches him with a quirked brow, almost wanting to laugh. For someone who so strongly hates it being said he doesn’t like his sibling’s wife, he’s rather… vehement in his own less than gracious defense. “Yeah, well… she knows. And I’ve been here before.”

 

“Even Father showed up…” Loki makes a face, mouth flattening. He doesn’t hate Jane—at all, if he’s being as clear as can be. He doesn’t know the woman. And that in itself is a shame, considering Thor and Jane have been married for 2 years. And with them going on their 5th year seeing each other on and off, Thor’s entire family is feeling the rift. Odin however, does little to react to it anymore; bottling his dissatisfaction. “She’s a science teacher for chrissake. The fifth grade science fair pales in comparison.”

 

“That’s not helping your argument here,” Thor says flatly, “but anyways…not every part of my life has—“

 

“To be about being on the ice—everyone has heard that line, brother. But it’s the fuckin’ Olympics!” Loki draws in an irritated breath, “One would think she hates what you do, with how she actively avoids showing her face. She wasn’t in Vancou—“

 

Thor internally groans. Four years ago, he and Jane weren’t having the issues they are having now. Four years ago, he hadn’t pushed as much as he does now. The skating world hasn’t ever been as competitive as it is now, and unfortunately, his career comes first. He’d thought she understood that. And he’d hoped, prayed, begged, her to understand it now too. But she’s not here. And it came as a shock to him to find that she’s unhappier than she’s ever been. He just knows it’s time to try and fix whatever is broken between them. “I’m retiring,” Thor mutters, “after this I’m done.”

 

“What? Are you insane?” Loki asks, eyes bugged. Thor has at least another four years in him—he’s not even 24 yet. “Thor…”

 

“I’ve decided… I love my wife, and—“ a phone starts to ring, and he realizes it’s his own.

 

“Heimdall is going to kill you for having that right now,” Loki laughs shaking his head. “No distractions from outside the bubble, remember?”

 

“Do you mind?” Thor asks, answering the call and holding it to his chest.

 

Loki huffs and gathers his crutches, “By all means.” As he meanders out of the room he hears his brother greet his wife. He snorts, shaking his head at the coincidence. Maybe he’s unfair in how he talks about his sister-in-law but he thinks it’s total crap that she wouldn’t show support in actually bothering to make the trip. But it’s an argument he’s not going to have _now_ —the day his brother is set to capture his second gold medal of this years games.

 

He makes his way out into the hall, stepping between their waiting parents and his coach.

 

“How is he? Nervous?” Their father Odin asks, worry wrinkling the corners of his eyes—patch over his right eye. He’s been making an effort in the last year or so. It’s not lost on the younger son.

 

“He’s never going to admit to being nervous,” Heimdall chuckles, though he knows his skater is always buzzing with anticipation.

 

“He is. And if he weren’t… then I’d be worried,” Loki shrugs, stepping between his mother and father. “Jane just called, I think he’ll be fine. You know, that romantic, sappy shit like needing to hear her voice or something.”

 

Frigga whacks his arm with her clutch.

 

Just as they prepare to turn and walk away, there’s a loud raging clatter from the locker room again. It grows louder and louder as it sounds as if the room is being torn apart. Security quickly breaks into a run down the hallway. And they come to find, that’s not good.

* * *

 

_**Present day, Valhalla Skating Club—Nastrond, Asgard.** _

 

Brunnhilde “Rue” Siegmund glides through her movements, floating on her skates as she settles back into the feeling of being on the ice. She’s coming back from a torn ACL, and is finally cleared to compete again. She switches from one blade to the next, a permanent smile etched onto her face as she glides and maneuvers around the ice with brackets, choctaws and mohawks.

 

_Nothing compares to this; this feeling._

 

There’s a slight chill from the ice, but she doesn’t mind it, having been away for longer than she’d wanted. Others suggested retirement, but after a few weeks of struggling worn it, she’s decided that she’s not done yet. Her arabesque is just as lovely as ever, leg straight behind her, arms wide as she propels forward with her eyes closed for a few precious seconds.

 

When she was a child growing up in here Nastrond, she’d shown natural ability. Frigga had just finished her last season and bought the rundown rink with her husband, Odin. Rue’s mother Émilie was one of the first parents to get their child enrolled with them. It had costed her nearly an arm and a leg, but even now Rue knows her mother would think she's deserves to skate on smoothed ice and not a pond in their backyard.

 

She’s feeling nostalgic.

 

Her spins are elegant, never a limb out of place or a line that’s not as beautiful as can be. On the ice is where she’s at home. And rehabbing an injury for almost an entire year? She never wants to do that again. She’s just now getting over the fact that she missed the entire 2015-16 season. Asgard has hosted a handful of national events and she had been forced to miss them.

 

Rue’s butterfly jump into a camel spin makes her happier than the first time she’d done it years ago. She twirls as fast as she can, body curved in a layback before the spin runs its course and she’s standing upright, arms raised.

 

“Showing off for the kids?” She hears, a chuckle accompanying the question. Awed children and parents alike stand around watching with smiles as they forget their tasks of getting home for the evening. Rue digs her toe pick into the ice, turning to a stop and coming face to face with her coach and co owner of the gym; Frigga Lindbergh Borsen, an Asgardian who’s regarded as a legend in her own right.

 

“No, they’re not paying attention to me.”

 

“You should’ve seen the look on all of their reddened faces when I told them Rue Siegmund was helping me—and them—with their recital.” Frigga laughs, both women making their way off the ice. It won’t be long before the zamboni is out, smoothing the ice over anew. Rue grabs her skate guards, sitting on the nearest bench. “Really, thank you for staying today…”

 

“It wasn’t a problem, trust me,” Rue smiles easily, pulling her hair tie out of her mass of curly hair, tossing it up again a moment later after combing back some fly-aways. “I want to soak up as much time as I can.”

 

“I know you’re trying to get back in shape in time for regionals,” Frigga sits beside her, tucking her hands into her lap with a sigh. “And someone like you, a champion—I’d be stupid to tell you that you’re not to compete.”

 

Rue chuckles, having felt the shift the second it happened. “But you _don’t_ think I should…”

 

“I want you to do what’s right for you,” Frigga quickly replies. A decorated Olympian—near royal blood running through her veins—from a family of prestige. “But I have something to ask of you…”

 

“Okay?” Rue sighs, brows pulled inward as she regards her long time coach.

 

“Thor is looking for a partner,” Frigga explains. “He’s been banned from singles competition.”

 

“Banned?” Rue asks, chin dropping. Almost disbelieving, she turns away to look at nothing in particular.

 

She snorts, without meaning to and opens her mouth to apologize but Frigga stops her with a soft lilting of her head. She can’t help thinking that Thor’s recent behavior is that of a child unchecked and unapologetic—used to people getting out of his way because of his name, and the line of revered athletes.

 

He hasn’t always been that way, she supposes. Before his career had really taken off, he was fairly annoying, bounding around with Loki, the two brothers bothering her class of older girls between lessons. (She was only a few years older, but ignored them rather easily outwardly.)They didn’t interact much now—if at all—considering he’s relocated to the US. She distinctly remembers how closed off he was around the team two years ago—people he’s skated with pretty much his entire life.

 

Loki is much better at reading a room and acting accordingly—years of experience charming media and _friends_ alike. But there had been one night, she’d drank a little too much and Thor walked her back to the hotel as their group rowdily bounded to the next bar. They’d had light conversation, maybe even a laugh or two over his childhood bowlcut. The memory is fuzzy. But under his big deal aura, there’s what she remembers as little flashes of a dazzling smile and not so smooth talking.

 

Rue thinks back on the last time she’d even seen the younger man compete. Thor’s more than a promising athlete—a two time Olympic champion, not to mention his countless accomplishments and his placements in the world rankings. Or rather, what once was his high ranking. He should have no problem finding some wide eyed young lady to skate with. Hell, Sif Jansen is also thinking of making the switch to pairs skating. It’s fate, probably. The leggy, raven haired woman is talented if not a little too eager to talk about herself—just as commanding as Thor is and probably used to the kind of attitude Thor has if he’s anything like Loki in a work setting.

 

But… Sochi is a problem for someone like Sif, who hadn’t qualified along with Rue and Natasha. Rue knows she thinks Thor squandered the opportunity; she’s been told as much by the woman herself.

 

“What about…” She pauses, unsure of who’s name she even wants to throw our, “Natasha?” She asks instead.

 

Frigga sighs, “She wants to retire and settle down with her husband in New York.” Natasha Romanova has skated in Asgard for years. Rue doesn’t know the entire story, but it’s not necessarily a secret that Natasha was a trainee under one of the more brutal and secretive camps until she’d had the courage to break away from it when she was still a teen. She receives a certain amount of gentleness from the staff, and Rue has come to understand that they know more than her.

 

“So you’ve asked,” Rue grumbles, maybe a little bitterly at the prospect of being second choice. She's fishing for excuses to be upset. It’s better than admitting that she’s fine with knowing very little about her coach’s son and what it’s like to work with him.

 

No one had known at the time until after Thor had gone out and skated the worst program anyone had ever seen from him. She remembers his uncontrolled aggression; failed lutz, disastrous loops, and lazy footwork. He looked like a man whose heart had been broken as the scores were shown. Heimdall and Frigga hadn’t been able to hide their worry and disappointment. And he had been heartbroken. Rue was not prepared for the feeling of pity that washed over her upon hearing he’d learned his wife planned to divorce him, nor that he’d trashed the locker room before then. All of this before a rage filled warm up—rage that had not ebbed before he was set to perform.

 

Thor had continued to compete though, rather than take time off to get a handle on his personal life. No, he’d been stuck in a never ending spiral, his career and life plummeting into near nothing. He’s losing sponsors, the media coming after him left and right. Though she can’t imagine he’s helping his badboy image—not keeping up with him right now; she knows what she knows from overhearing the gossip walking around the rink. Just last month it was being reported that a shouting match led to fisticuffs with a New York entrepreneur over a _parking space._

 

_Come to think of it, being banned doesn’t seem far-fetched._

 

“You’re a fan favorite coming off a long layoff,” Frigga startles her out of her scattered thoughts.

 

Rue nods slowly, not feeling much better, “And you think, partnering with me can save face while maybe even generating some good buzz.”

 

“I think you two could be good together.” Frigga has been coaching enough women in her rink to see good and bad qualities in all of them. But Rue is the only woman she thinks will fit—someone she trusts won’t lose her head under the scrutiny. She just hopes they’ll get on well. “It doesn’t have to be long term. When it’s over, you’ll have the following to back you for your singles return.” Frigga adds. “I don’t think the timing could be any better. But you don’t have to say yes. Just think about it?”

 

“I will,” Rue swallows thickly. Frigga gives a small but warm smile as she starts to make her way back to her office. “But only for you!” Rue calls out, making her coach actually chuckle.

 

 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to you all for reading! Kudos and comments were much appreciated. 
> 
> Thor as a figure skater is what I needed in my life, guys.
> 
> In my head, Asgardian sounds a lot like a dialect of Norwegian. Tuck that little tidbit away for later. :)

Thor sighs heavily as he heaves his bag out of the trunk of his rental. It’s a newer model Benz SUV. If he weren’t such a tall person, he’d probably be into sports cars...but he’s 6’3. He still likes the look of a good luxury SUV though, and he can afford the fee so why not allow himself the one thing while he’s here at home? He’s trying to get through it before it even properly starts. He hasn’t been home to visit his mother’s house…he’ll probably bite the bullet after practice today. He’s been staying with Loki and Sif, and that’s awkward for many a reason.

 

Today’s the day he returns home after a long stint in the states. As TMZ has reported, he continued to deliver sloppy performances while spending valuable training time trying to win Jane back. And when that didn’t work, she took half of everything and he went on to party and make bad decisions for himself.

 

He hasn’t set a skate to ice in a little over six months, too busy watching his life spiral down into chaos, unbothered because bottles of alcohol seemed to be permanently attached to his hands. But when he finally got that out of his system—thanks to his brother flying to NYC to give him a good smack to the back of the dome that was accompanied by unyielding nagging—he looked around and noted one thing: none of it matters because nothing feels as rewarding as attacking a program and skating the hell out of it. And all of his hard work feels like it has been blown to hell. Also he’d been wallowing in self pity and people were looking at him as if he were just a shell of his former self—past his prime and unable to return. He’s not even _thirty_ yet, nor is he even pushing it really at a few months to 27. He’d show them, and everyone to ever turn their back on him.

 

He’d sat on his overpriced couch, realizing none of it meant anything. His name alone held true power once, because it had meant something. He’d been an anchor, once a threshold of greatness. He would get back on the ice, he’d be number one again.

 

On the return home, he convinced himself this is a part of his life he can control. Reality hit of course, upon the realization that he is banned from singles' competition and that he has done nothing that will help an appeal. No one wants him in their locker rooms, their fates left to chance of bad news. His mother is happy to have him home though, and maybe he’s using this as an excuse for some free ice time, but whatever. 

 

The rumors ran rampant after his fateful ‘14 Olympics skate, and he’s never addressed it, against his agent’s advice. Now, he has no agent. And the rumors of his meltdown have taken on a life of their own. Most of them are generally on the nose, after the publicized gossip around his divorce. And to his own irritation, he’d come to find out that Jane thinks he cheated on her… with _Brunnhilde_ of all people. He can laugh about it now because he’s almost certain Siegmund wouldn’t even breathe in his direction. There is some grainy pictures of them walking together, his hand on her shoulder. He remembers she nearly tripped over her own feet and he was practically holding her up when the picture was taken. She has no recollection of it, and he knows this because she walked right by him the next day, talking animatedly with friends.

 

He’d been ready to blame her, but he couldn’t bring himself to. And he’d had no way of contacting her. Jane granted the small mercy, never coming out publicly with the accusation, pretty severance dealings keeping her happy. She still resents the media attention more than she is angry with him.

 

Brunnhilde isn’t the reason his relationship fell apart and he’d quickly denied sleeping with her. And he’d been more than a little hurt that there was even room for that kind of doubt in Jane. He is a lot of things, but he’s never been that _kind_ of selfish. In the end, the damage was done. He quickly came to see, Jane didn’t trust him and he hadn’t done enough to fight for it when it counted. He’d drowned himself in his work—when he was happy, sad, angry, even _just_ content, all he’d done was skate. He and Jane would never have skating in common and she’d resented it. Time and time again, in her eyes, he’d chosen his figure skating over her. It didn’t matter that he was retiring for her—he never got the chance to tell her.

 

And in the end, that did nothing for him either. They were over, forced to see that they’d muscled by on physical attraction and ignored the more important bits. And thus, the beginning of his spiral. Because _how stupid_ had he been to find himself here?

 

Pushing into the double doors, wiping his feet on the dust mat with a near reverence, his nostrils are hit with the familiar smell of the rink. He doesn’t know how to describe the bite of the ice, or the weird under current of _something_ he doesn’t have a word for. But he knows it. And this place, it somehow feels like home. It’s practically empty at this point, but he can see that the Zamboni has been out already, the ice gleaning. And he huffs heavily when he notes that it’s been carved into already too. The lights are on and there’s a yellow glow coming from upstairs where his mom’s office is perched, getting a birds eye view of the ice. To the left are the bleachers, to the right, a concessions stand he’s sure is bustling whenever there’s a hockey game, and further down, a hall that leads to the lockers and the bathrooms available to onlookers and parents alike.

 

He tries to think of the last time he’s been to a hockey game. It’s been ages. He’s sure his school coach is still rambling about his build for it. Thor rolls his eyes as he tosses his bag into a bench and plops down. He probably should have played hockey. It seems less fussy.

 

“It’s rude to arrive and not say hi, you know?” Frigga says in Asgardian, startling him as he’s bent down to put on his black, leather skates.

 

“Jesus!” He says, startled. He’s wearing a loose necklace with a golden pendant modeled after his first euros medal and it hangs in his face. (When he was 22, it was a big deal, his first major competition win as a senior competitor.) “Please, don’t do that,” he replies in English. She regards him with a raised brow and he huffs. “I understood you, mother.  Just… my accent’s a little funny.”

 

“How funny?” She asks, a small teasing smile threatening him.

 

“I may as well be speaking Finnish,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes.

 

Frigga laughs, an explosion that echoes through the rink. It makes him smile and he feels stupid for avoiding her. He pulls her into a hug, kissing her temple. “Hi, Mamma.”

 

“Hi,” she looks up at him, tsking as she takes his face in her hands. “How you got so tall, I’ll never know.”

 

He shrugs, looking to the ice, “Were you skating?”

 

“Nope,” she says, making her way back towards the hall that leads to her office. “Brunnhilde is here.”

 

The woman of the hour scoffs as she exits the locker room, “Ugh, please, it’s _Rue_ . My mother called me Brunnhilde—who are you talking—“ and she sees him there, by the door; and he’s gargantuan as ever. “ _Oh_ , hi. I didn’t know you were coming today.” She looks at the owner of the rink, her coach, teeth gritted.

 

After their brief talk a few days before, they hadn’t broached it again and she hadn’t been made aware Thor was returning before she gave an answer.

 

She looks back at him, noting that he’s staring at her and she has the sudden urge to tame her hair and pull at the sleeves of her rash guard.  Fiddling with her gloves, she slides them on as they watch each other. She doesn’t pull at her sleeves, which feels like an accomplishment, and she's otherwise frozen—unable to move to at least shake the man’s hand. For some reason she hasn’t been remembering _him,_ but his awful skate two years ago. Not the incredibly fit man standing before her. He’s cut his hair—thank god—and there’s some slashes of a design that add to his already rugged appearance aided by the full beard he’s rocking.  Where others are tall and lean, willowy and maybe even lanky in comparison he’s thick, muscled and sturdy but also with a waist that is unfairly narrow for a man. He certainly appears to have the upper body strength for pairs skating.

 

Thor approaches rather tentatively, but with a back that’s rod straight so he’s standing at his full height. He easily balances on his skates, even taller in them. “It’s good to see you too. How long’s it been?” His voice is deep and warm. A lesser woman would shiver at the sound of it. It seems to echo in the otherwise dead silence of the rink.

 

For his part, he seems just as enthralled by her face as she is with his, staring just as attentively. Blue meet soft brown, and he’ll deny that his heart is hammering in his chest.

 

Rue shrugs, feeling herself swallowing thickly. “Couple years.”  

 

When did he get so attractive and why was her cursed body taking note of it? She looks over at his mother, the older woman smiling knowingly between them. She’d felt the jolt of whatever just washed over the two of them.

 

“I told her you’re looking for a partner,” Frigga finally says, putting them both out of their misery.

 

“What?” He actually has the gall to sound shocked at this. “Why? I’m not—“

 

“You’re not?” Rue asks, confused.

 

“Well, I am but—“

 

“But what?” Frigga asks, “You want to skate, you can’t compete in singles and this—“

 

“But we haven’t exhausted all other—“

 

“Your career is currently in shambles,” Frigga cuts him off, staring at him with gesturing hands, waiting for a good response. She’s won and he sighs. “Rue here, is thinking about making a singles return or… a pairs debut. She hasn’t decided.”

 

Apart from his initial embarrassment to have had this discussion _in front_ of Rue to begin with, he’s shocked she’s considering the offer. It’s not much. And he knows how good she is on her own. She’s one of nine women that have completed a triple axel, only the third to do so at the Olympics. The three and a half rotations is notoriously tricky to pull off, and she lands it consistently, with a bright smile and victorious celebration afterwards. Two of them won her a singles gold medal in 2014. The woman is talented. And apart from her unfortunate knee injury last year, there’s been no indication that she can’t make it to 2018’s event, in the next year and a half. She’s nearly four years older than him, but there _will be_ older women competing. It’s not unheard of, moving on to pairs and even back to singles.

 

“That’s right, I haven’t decided,” Rue shrugs again when he looks at her. “Not sure I should tie myself to you, pretty boy.”

 

He hums, “That’s fair,” he turns abruptly, pressing on out onto the ice. He’s not one for starting slow with… swizzles or something, no he breaks out into a speed as he rounds the ice. He missed it.

 

Rue is used to watching the Borsens skate. Frigga is all grace, easy lines and beautiful spins that she tries to instill in all of her pupils. Loki is all for the drama—with dramatic outfits to boot—but Thor… He’s power with unadulterated athletics that are both heartstopping and jaw dropping. He also deals attacks, strokes of his bladed feet that cut into the ice authoritatively and _with_ the purpose of leaving his mark in it. He makes every rink his and barely ever breathes hard after a program. That’s normal. But now, he’s just speeding around with backward crossovers like a child after they first get a feel for it. And of course he has to throw a double Salchow just to show that he can. He’ll call it a warmup.

 

She of course, has been skating since 4:30 in the morning trying to convince herself to just go for a jump, the knee can take it. He just throws himself in, head first right off the bat.

 

“Get out there,” Frigga encourages her. “You know…before everyone else starts hogging the ice…”

 

“I know what you’re doing,” Rue narrows her eyes at the woman, her second mom. “It’s not going to work. I’m _thinking_ about it. Just ‘cause he’s here doesn’t mean—”

 

Frigga laughs, “I’m not doing anything. You missed skating, remember?”

 

Rue huffs, adjusting her messy bun before getting back out on the ice.

 

“I forget how much you love to show off!” She calls after Thor, holding her hands on her hips as she skids to a stop, back foot anchoring her down.

 

He skids to a stop the same way she has, but stays a few paces away. “I’m _all_ about showing off.” He plays right into the banter, maybe even a little tickled by the fact that she’s not at all afraid to push his buttons a little bit. “You know… you’re a bit of a show off too if I’m remembering correctly.” He doesn’t give her a moment to respond before he shakes his head. “No, couldn’t have been you I remember,” He gives her the most innocent look he can muster, turning and skating backwards. “Nearly falling asleep to your boring classical track is coming back to me.”

(He of course, had skated to _Thunderstruck_ during his last season and she had picked some classical something he doesn't know the name of.)

 

She guffaws, eyes narrowing before she takes off before him, picking up speed before sweeping her leg out before hitting her own double lutz. She huffs, skating around him in a circle. He claps sarcastically, ignoring that his heart is hammering in his chest now that she’s so much closer to him, and she’d just fearlessly launched herself into the air and landed so cleanly so clearly out to prove she can.

 

“Your knee bent a little,” He says, nitpicking and he knows it. When he says _little,_ it’s so minute of a bend that only a judge who is looking for something to deduct will go back and look for it. Rue scoffs.

 

“Thanks for the advice,” she says sardonically, rolling her eyes. He actually smiles at that.

 

“If you two are done posturing, maybe try some pair skating,” Frigga calls, standing out on the edge of the landing in front of her office. “Keep it simple. Hand-hip. Go on.”

 

Thor chuckles, offering a hand.

 

.

.

.

 

Rue doesn’t blink as his hands touch her waist now, and he finds his place skating behind her. It was rather easy to get the mechanics of skating close to him—as if she’s meant to. He seems to feel the same way, as they find themselves in a hand-hip told. His hand is huge in comparison to hers, though hers seems to fit in his, and the other doesn’t feel all that foreign at her hip.  

 

But she finds herself holding her breath so she won’t breathe him in the way she seems to want to. They move from one end to the other, with her looking down at her feet more than where they’re going. If he decides to, he can let go and launch her directly into the edge of the rinks barrier. But that’s probably an unfair assumption, as he’s being _nice_ to her. It feels much different from Sochi—when he hadn’t even looked at anyone for more than a few seconds. Getting him to go out the one night the team of Asgardians got together must have been like pulling teeth for Loki.

 

“How are we supposed to know what this should feel like?” Rue asks aloud, as they seemingly lose momentum and he releases his light hold on her—turning to stand in her line of sight, skating circles around her.

 

“I dunno,” He shrugs, “but I feel good about it?”

 

“We’ve just been bullshitting for an hour,” She argues. A few synched backward crossovers and a paired arabesque spin is hardly proof they’ll work out in the long run. “Hardly proof I can stand you for an entire practice, or that you won’t enjoy dropping me every once in a while… and who will even coach us?”

 

“That’ll be me…” Heimdall appears at the edge of the ice, leaning on the barrier with a smile. “And I’m kind of hurt that you didn’t call me, Thor.” He’s of course, not at all that hurt. He knows the arduous back and forth that Thor has gone through with the ISU and pretty much everyone. He's had an eye on the situation, but didn't want to force the issue of focus on his skater. Thor needed to find his way. The younger man, his pupil for all intents and purposes, leans over to give one of the manlier hugs Rue will see in her lifetime.

 

“You coach pairs?” Rue asks, flummoxed.

 

“I have in the past, yes. I've been more focused on Thor and Loki over the years but pairs work is not foreign to me,” Heimdall says, greeting her with an extended hand.

 

“Ah, yes,” Thor leans his hip on the wall, “Well Rue here hasn’t decided if she wants to take on the task of getting the ISU to like me again.”

 

“I don’t blame her,” Heimdall chuckles. “Made a real ass of yourself at your last showing.”

 

Rue snorts as Thor rolls his eyes good-naturedly. She can’t figure out why she ever thought Thor was unapproachable. The man hasn’t tried to defend himself at all today. He seems to think she’s his last hope. Or at least, that is the vibe. And maybe she’s decided.

 

“I don’t think I have much else of a choice,” She finds herself saying. Part of her knew she’d say yes all along. But it doesn’t stop her from thinking she still has unfinished business in singles competition.

 

“I think you look good together,” Heimdall chuckles, quietly noting that Thor is staring at her like she just said she’s the reason the sun rose this morning.

 

“Are you serious?” He asks, eyes wide. Rue nods.

 

“Olympics as a pairs skater doesn’t sound that bad…” she shrugs. “And who knows, maybe we’ll land some triple axels.” She screeches as Thor pulls her into his arms, actually laughing a moment later.

 

He sets her down, hands still on her hips as they slowly glide across the ice. “I really owe you one.”

 

“You’re definitely going to have a tweet about my return to singles competition,” she jokes.

 

“Oh my god, done,” he makes a face, shaking his head playfully.

 

Heimdall looks up where Frigga is perched in her office and gives a thumbs up. The owner smiles. Hope is not lost.

 

The coach looks at them. “We’ve got some work to do.”

  



	3. Chapter 3

For the last few days, Heimdall has been letting them get used to skating side-by-side, learning how to mimic each other’s movements, learning to pair spin and twirl in unison with one another. They quickly see what Frigga knows, Rue will not be overwhelmed by skating next to someone as commanding as Thor is. And other than a small miscalculations—he nearly hit her in the face a few times with flailing arms—they seem to be doing fine. There are moments it looks as if he’s frustrated or annoyed by their slow move towards progress, but he keeps a handle on it after a few days; grunting and rolling his eyes. 

 

_ “Don’t look so wounded,” Rue scoffs, as she offers a hand to her new partner. They crossed skates and both went tumbling.  _

 

_ He doesn’t take her hand, getting to his feet and skating off. “Let’s go again,” he calls behind him.  _

 

_ She doesn’t move, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “No,” Rue rolls her eyes as he turns to her abruptly.  _

 

_ “What?”  _

 

_ “Fix your attitude first,” Rue tosses back. “I’m not going to do this with you—feeling like it always has to be perfect. I don’t work like that.” She throws her hands out to her side. “This is new, we’re gonna fuck up. Tripping is par for the course.”  _

 

_ He sighs heavily, crossing his arms as she glares at him.  _

 

_ “Are you going to respond or do you only grunt and nod until you get what you want?”  _

 

_ Heimdall, for his part smiles where he’s watching from the sidelines, amused by Rue’s confidence.  _

 

_ Thor sighs, relenting to her scolding, “I just want this to work.” He swallows thickly, looking down at his skates, “I don’t have many options—this has to work out for me.”  _

 

“Alright kids,” Heimdall announces as he sweeps into the hallway. The rink is not some overly large building, but there’s enough room in the hall—vending machines along the wall for effect—and the ceiling high enough. They’ve dabbled in lifts, looking at different types, seeing them done properly through the tape Heimdall has available and hearing explanations of those he doesn’t have visuals for. “We’re going to drill lifts until neither of you can stand me.” 

 

“That won’t take long,” Rue mumbles, getting to her feet. She bends her hip to the side, shifting weight to her left leg to stretch casually. She holds her arms up, curving her body to the side. Her hands look soft, fingers dainty. Thor wonders if she realizes how easily she does that. It’s undoubtedly something his mother ingrained in her. 

 

“I heard that,” Heimdall replies—finger pointing at her as she offers up a shit-eating grin. “We’ll start where we left off last time.” 

 

Thor wordlessly takes Rue by the waist, easily lifting her into the air and holding her up. She squeals, but extends her arms, being the perfect picture of grace for the swan lift. 

 

“Down.” He says, watching as he Thor easily drops her his shoulder and she slinks down. They finish as if on ice, free leg out, arm up. “Axel lift.” 

 

Rue hops into the lift, holding Thor’s hands as he presses her over head. They continue on, both moving to Heimdall’s commands. Up and down, over and back, Rue is getting dizzy. 

 

“Try not to look like you’re trying so hard to keep her up,” Heimdall says. They’re off skates, attempting the needed lifts in pairs skating, neither should look so terrified. 

 

They transition to a star position, with Rue using one hand to hold her foot, and the other to balance by holding Thor’s shoulder. 

 

They’ve been skating together for a week. The world also knows now and they’re meant to be at an exhibition in the next couple of weeks. Neither of them feels quite ready for it, but it’s coming whether they really want to or not. It’s nerves—feelings of being unprepared for how they’ll be received. There are a lot of questions around them. But mostly people are wondering if he’s changed, cleaned up his act? Is she healthy? 

 

“Well I  _ am _ trying to hold her up,” Thor argues. 

 

“Are you saying I’m  _ heavy?”  _ Rue looks down at him, holding his shoulder in a death-grip that will probably bruise. 

 

“No, you weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet,” Thor scoffs. “But I’m not  _ levitating _ you into the air, ma’am.” 

 

“Don’t get sassy with my elbow so close to your head, sir,” Rue tosses back. 

 

“I am 6’3 and holding you in the air _above_ my head…” Thor reminds her and lets the threat hang. Though he will never intentionally drop her. All of this bickering is happening because he’s  _ trying  _ so hard not to drop her. The problem is that Heimdall can apparently tell. But it’s been hours, his arms feel like jelly. 

 

“Alright, down.” Heimdall waves them off, watching as she drops from overhead and Thor catches her easily, cradling her in his arms for affect. “Better,” the coach remarks. “Twist lifts.”

 

Rue frowns. She's watched enough, and been around it enough to know her pairs lifts once they’re explained. The basic understanding of how it works isn’t too complicated really. But most lifts deal a great lot with timing. 

 

Heimdall explains what they need to know, what’s expected of both. Rue is to kick off, getting the momentum just right and Thor pushes her up into the air. Rue is to spin, and Thor has to catch her and set her back down. If they get the angle right—and that’s the most important part—she won’t go banging into his shoulder and hurt herself (that’s an entire point deduction from their execution score) so it has to be pristine as planned. 

 

She turns her back to Thor, sucking in a breath as he takes hold of her. “Ready?” He asks. 

 

“No, but go anyway,” Rue says. He lifts her up, throwing with more force than she’s expecting and she squeals and bails on the turn. He catches her easily, but with her back facing away from him. Her arms flail, but he’s unscathed. 

 

“Do you need a minute?” Heimdall asks, from where he sits looking on. He keeps concern out of his tone, but she doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s displeased with her freezing. 

 

“No,” Rue shakes her head. “Just not used to being thrown around by a man twice my size.” She jokes, and she hears Thor grunt a laugh. She looks at him, over her shoulder, “Again.” 

 

They repeat the beginning process, but she goes with the twist and Thor catches her waist, stopping her from falling too low into him. He looks just as pleased as she feels once he sets her down. She steps out of his hold, her free leg extended and her arm raised. 

 

They repeat the same mechanics over and over until Thor consistently catches her at the same mark. Heimdall calls for the double, and Rue narrows her eyes in determination. She whacks Thor with her elbow, which would be worse if they were on skates, his footing would be lost to avoid getting hit in the face. 

 

“Sorry,” she says, grabbing his face in her hands before he even sets her down. There’s a red mark on his cheek. She immediately feels worse. 

 

“I’m fine,” he takes a hold of her wrists, exhaling a dramatized breath. “My arms are tired. Can’t we get back to jumps?” Thor grumbles, like a petulant and inpatient child. He looks at the time, it’s been hours. “I guarantee we have the best—“

 

“Don’t get cocky…” Heimdall warns. “You haven’t even debuted yet. And moreover, we’re trying to get people to like you again.” 

 

“They never really liked him… just in awe of what he could do,” Rue mumbles, before drinking her water. 

 

“What’s the difference?” Both men ask, looking at her as if she’s grown another head. 

 

“Jesus Herman Christ,” she massages her temples. “Forget it. Regardless, Petersen there is right.” She slaps Thor’s chest in corralling fashion, “We don’t want to come off as over confident and then blow it with something like flubbing a lift. And I’d like to not die in a rink.  _ Neither _ of us can die during our program.” 

 

“That wouldn’t be preferable, no. No dying. Neither of you are to die… understand?” Heimdall points, looking at him from over his glasses. He has a notebook that he writes in, and Thor has gotten used to it, but Rue currently wants to rip it from his hands. Everything Frigga thinks, she says, and Rue is used to that kind of coaching. “Take the afternoon. Eat, rest. Meet on the ice at 7. Mostly everyone will be gone. Free ice time.” 

 

“Yes, Captain,” Rue sighs, grabbing her jacket. 

 

Heimdall rolls his eyes as they begin to walk away from him. 

 

“Hungry?” Thor asks as they make a break for the exit. The walk towards the front of the building isn’t long. She’s taken aback momentarily. “ _ Rue _ , do you want to grab a bite?” 

 

“Huh? Yeah, sure.” 

.

.

.

“I pictured you as a sports car kinda guy,” Rue muses, getting out of the passenger seat. She sends him a smirk as she pushes the door closed, adjusting the band of her small bag. They’ve found a little unassuming sidewalk cafe not far from the rink. 

 

He chuckles, “If they weren’t so cramped, I would be.” He opens the door to the small restaurant for her without thought to the action. “What?” He asks, when she looks at him, a smile playing at her full lips. 

 

She swallows, shaking off whatever that feeling just was. She’s had people open doors for her. It’s common courtesy. She curses herself for being weird. Clearing her throat, she shrugs, “If you weren’t so  _ freakishly _ tall…Jesus man, what did they feed you?”

 

“ _ Just two…” _ Thor tells the greeter behind the counter, still chuckling at Rue’s words. He speaks in Asgardian, hoping to not be so disconnected anymore. The boy can’t be more than 17, nods at them sheepishly upon realization of who they are. He leads them to a table in the back of the main dining hall, setting their menus in front of them. 

 

“ _ My sister Madeline loves you,” _ he finally blurts, talking to Rue. “She wants to be just like you.” 

 

“ _ Aw,” _ Rue smiles, flattered, “ _ How old is she—taking lessons?”  _

 

“ _ She’s 15. And yes, three times a week after school. But she says no one famous is around for those hours.” _ He babbles quickly, holding his hands in front of him as she looks for something to write on. He looks at Thor then, suddenly remembering he’s there too. “ _ Oh she’s not going to believe this!”  _

 

Thor laughs, the sound echoing warmly throughout the room. “Nope, place clears out during lessons.” 

 

“ _ How bout a video or something, send it to her?” _ Rue offers. The teen nods vigorously as she finds his phone in his pocket and unlocks it. Rue says a quick hello, offers some encouragement and winks on the send off. 

 

“ _ She’s gonna lose it!” _ He laughs. “ _ Thank you! Oh my gosh, I’m just standing here. Sorry. Your server will be right out. _ ” 

 

“That was cute,” Rue sighs thoughtfully. She looks around, realizing the place is basically dead. She looks at the time on her phone, realizing it’s not even noon yet. The few times she’s passed by, she’s noted it’s busy during dinner hours, and by then all she wants is a shower and bed. 

 

“Your accent is terrible by the way…so American.” 

 

He makes a face, sarcastically giving her the finger as she snickers. 

 

“Popular around here, are you?” Thor changes the subject, sending her a subdued, if not impressed smile. 

 

“Not like you used to be,” she says, and he snorts as he sees the mortified look on her face. “Sorry.” She quickly apologizes. 

 

He waves her off, mouth pulled out at the corners as he shakes his head. What can he say, other than it’s true? He not only moved, he went and got into all the trouble imaginable while he was gone. He’s not sure he can expect anything else. But it does sting a little. He’d just have to prove himself again. 

 

“And I am not  _ freakishly _ tall. You’re just not normal height,” he changes the subject back with the first thought to his head. She laughs, just as their server comes back. 

 

Realization lights up on her face as well. 

.

.

.

“Do you think Heimdall will have something for our exhibition when we get back?” Rue asks, simultaneously munching on leaves from her salad. She reaches for her glass of water, holding the straw between lithe fingers. 

 

Thor wipes his mouth with the napkin from his lap, holding it in his fist as he nods. “He’s probably had something in mind since my mother called him.” 

 

Rue hums, setting her glass down. “That would make sense. That would explain earlier—warning us to train hard. He plans for us to use as much as we can in our programs.” She thinks aloud, and Thor nods over his meal as she does so. Heimdall crafted programs for Thor and Loki that showcased their strong suits and even more, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get back on the ice.” 

 

“Me too,” he nods, swallowing down more food. He notes that she’s watching him quizzically. “What?” 

 

“Nothing baaaad,” she shrugs. He rolls his eyes and she gives a dry giggle. “I’m just used to hearing the opposite in return. Natasha usually asks me if I know it’s okay to sleep.” 

 

Thor snorts, “I want to skate all the time too. I know I haven’t been training consistently the last year. But nothing compares to delivering a clean program, and knowing I worked for that.” 

 

She understands that—knowing the hard work and dedication wasn’t for nothing is unparalleled but also having enjoyed it—and it’s the best feeling. She can’t imagine how he could avoid skating, just to be around partying and drinking. It’s fun to let loose, but to avoid skating by choice, she can’t imagine it. It’s how she knows she’s not ready to retire yet. 

 

“I would kill for some private ice time this week,” she mutters, shaking her head whilst shifting conversation. “Bet you didn’t miss sharing the ice with twenty different people at a time  _ and _ a hockey team.” 

 

“I kind of like complaining about them for an extra twenty minutes before actually getting to work,” he jokes, earning him an abrupt laugh she nearly chokes on. 

 

“It’s like they can’t stop without shaving a layer off the ice!” She playfully gripes, rolling her eyes for effect. 

 

Thor grumbles over his glass of water, “Fuckin’ hockey players…” 

 

Rue dissolved into a fit of giggles, making his smile widen behind the mouth of his glass. She presses her hands to her face, shaking her head at him. 

 

“How many times have you had to say you don’t play hockey?” 

 

“Too many. ‘ _Oh, you skate? What team?’_ ” He exhales through his mouth, crossing his arms casually as he mocks those who’ve posed the question. 

 

“You’re such a snob, aren’t you?” She asks teasingly. 

 

“Obviously,” He says, expression displaying that he thinks it should be easy to see. But his tone is so clearly amused that she can’t help her cackle. 

 

She sobers after a few moments of wheezing, wiping the corner of her eye as she goes back to digging through her salad, picking up her knife to cut into a piece of grilled chicken. “So what’s the goal? Making it to the International Classic?” 

 

“The Grand Prix events,” Thor says, referring to the international competition that set the groundwork that leads to Euros and ultimately the World Championships. They can do that. “We won’t be ready for September and I want us to put our best foot forward, so to speak.” 

 

Rue finds his assured expression to be a good thing, but she’s not so convinced either. She hasn’t convinced herself to go for anything more than a double jump and here he is, talking about the road to world titles. So really, what other choice is there? 

 

“We sure will.” 

  
  
  


##  **Three Weeks Later—Nidavelir Recreational Center**

  
  


Thor takes Rue’s hand as their names are announced. They wave to the audience, warmed by the reception. The pop from the crowd at the announcement of her name is nearly deafening. She smiles with pride. He swallows down the bitter feeling in his throat from the scattered cheers for himself. Since he’s arrived, credentialed media journalists and talent alike have been wearily watching him. He doesn’t think his outbursts warrant such weariness—then again, by the time they’ve gotten to this moment, he was feeling the temptation of kicking over a water cooler. Rue gives his hand a squeeze as they separate, going in smooth circles before finding their mark. She wipes at her nose, where it’s been over-powdered and is feeling a little dry. He exhales deeply, smiling at her as they settle.

Rue can hear the thumping of her heartbeat in her ears. Thor stands beside her, one hand at her hip. They stand waiting to begin their first skate together in front of an audience. The lights are dimmed, a spotlight on them. (She hates the whole exhibition spotlight thing, a lot of their actions are swathed in harsh light. And looking into it? Goodbye eyesight for the rest of the evening.) But she grits her teeth as she reaches for a calming inhale, swallowing down her nerves. She hasn’t performed in over a year, and nearly forgot this final moment before it’s time to show what she’s been working for. It’s not for a score—and being a part of the gala but not the event is disheartening but she can’t think of that now—but the precedent needs to be set: they are here, and they’re here to be the best. 

 

X Ambassadors’  _ Unsteady  _ blares through the rink hauntingly as she pulls away from Thor and he pulls her back, hand bracing at her neck. This song fits the current situation well enough—Thor’s struggles being something they can’t run from, but here she is, keeping him afloat. They glide easily, wrapped around each other. 

 

They open with their triple twist lift; the crowd claps as Thor catches her and she lands on her foot, skating ahead. She twirls around him as Thor displays the struggle of trying to keep up, wanting her strength. It’s a nice contrast she thinks—this hulking man looking so anguished, along with her yearning. And she doesn’t know where exactly he’s pulling the expression from, but it’s working. His aggressive skating and the deep haunting of the mix they’re skating to—it works. He wears a grey shirt, and simple black pants. He couldn’t be convinced otherwise, never has he been one for flashy outfits. She’ll have to break him out of that. Her bedazzled, soft blue leo and skirt shift with her movement. In their program, he is the dark, she is light. 

 

They catch hands and skate backwards around the curve of the rink before he pulls her in for the set up for their triple lutz throw, hand slightly off center—the take off from the imaginary ripcord sends her soaring. The landing is deep and she has to fight for it more than she wants, but she glides across the ice with a smile. It feels even better to land it in front of onlookers. She sets her feet into a spread eagle as he catches up and they skate together in a series of circles and hand waves before he effortlessly lifts her over his head with one arm and she holds his shoulder. Heimdall holds his breath where he stands on the sidelines, fingers pressed over his mouth as he looks on.

 

Their transitions from skill to skill are lovely and clean, perfectly synced with the music. They go into their jumps, simultaneous triple toe loops. She smiles as they land them in unison. Thor gets such height in his jumps. They moved into the paired Arabesque, their hands resting over her abdomen as they spin on the same axis and the music swells. They slow their spinning, skating apart in opposite directions until she moves into his arms again. He lifts her so she’s perched on his thigh, and they move down a line. He spins her out back onto her own skates. 

 

Rue closes her eyes for the death spin, her body nearly parallel as he guides her around the same circle; toe pick acting as an anchor for the move. 

 

Rue feels more and more exhilarated as they go through the rest of the program—paired jumps and gravity defying lifts along with fleeting, and impassioned touches that are far too easy to sell. When he throws her for the salchow late in the program; she knows she’ll land it comfortably before her skate hits the ice. 

 

He reaches her with an extended hand, pulling her close. Their noses touch as she presses her hands into his, and he supports her weight as they turn around.

 

The last jump sequence is clean, triple lutz, double toe. They meet in the center of the ice with side-by-side fan spirals. On the songs close, they pair spin and he stops bowed before her, arms around her waist, as if begging her to stay. 

 

The crowd cheers loudly, and she allows herself to beam in the adoration. She looks down to Thor, who looks just as relieved, happy even. He straightens and she offers double high fives. 

 

He keeps hold on her hands, pulling her close. “Amazing,” He says into her hair. 

 

She beams up at him, playfully exhaling with her tongue out, hands at his waist. He laughs, resting his chin atop her head as they continue to stand and soak up the applause. They bow and wave, smiling widely at the fans who are cheering. 

 

Heimdall beams with pride as they approach him on the sidelines, accepting hugs and relief. They didn’t make any mistakes save for a couple near misses on their jumps. But it’s to be expected, at least to the coach anyway. Both Thor and Rue have had long extended time off the ice. He hands them their skate guards and a jacket for Rue. 

 

There’s no need to visit the couches in the kiss and cry—the area where they would receive their scores—so they settle for gripping each other’s wrists right there in the middle of the sideline hall, letting out excited, pent up, childlike roars of glee.    
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rue and Thor’s first press conference as a duo doesn’t go as planned...

Thor really hates press conferences. Like really really. They’re never just about skating or how he feels about how an event went. There’s always someone asking questions he doesn’t want to answer. And as he sits there with Rue, the two of them making their first appearance together as a pair, he spots the ever invasive Maria Hill. She’s a reporter—working under an even more unforgiving editor—and a permanent thorn in Thor’s side. At least TMZ isn’t here, he thinks.

 

He barely listens to the question he and Rue are asked, but he knows she’s responding. Under the table, she reaches to pinch his hand to get his attention. She’s been doing her best to avoid his space as of late, he wonders if she knows that he’s noticed. She never quite knows what do with her hands, where he is concerned. They fall into silence, and she takes to studying him. There are things that she wants to ask, but doesn’t. They work together. This is a career move.

 

“Uhrm,” She continues on. She’s been responding in Asgardian first, and translating for the non-Asgardians or those who don’t speak any mutually-intelligible language. (There’s a translator on hand, but both Thor and Rue speak English. His partner also speaks Finnish, and a little bit of Italian. Of course he discovered this… today. Maybe five minutes ago.) “It was an opportunity that presented itself—we represent the same gym, and that’s really all it took for me to hear that there was a spot for me to fill as his partner. And I’m honored to work with him, and now my new coach Heimdall Petersen. There’s no other story to be uncovered.”

 

Thor leans forward, looking from Rue to the reporter when Rue is done translating. “I’m very grateful to have found someone with her work ethic and her determination. We’ve put in a lot of hours leading up to this…debut. And I’m looking forward to this season.”

 

A sea of reporters all begin raising their hands and the proctor points to another woman. Internally Thor is grateful. She introduces herself and shoots right into the question.

 

“Do you feel you stack up well against teams who have been skating together for years—for instance…the twins who won today?” Wanda and Pietro Maximoff have been skating together since before they were even walking properly—like every other event they’ve participated in, today was a showcase of the artistry and skill they possess as a pairing. They’re wonderful dancers with a innovative skills that speak to their dedication to putting their best foot forward. They’re a media favorite. Wanda is coy and Pietro is as well spoken as he is charming.

 

“Both of us have been doing this for over 20 years,” Thor replies, brows pinched. “We haven’t been skating together for that long but we bring experience and our respective skills to our partnership. We’re only going to get better from here and I think we did pretty damn good today.”

 

“There’s a certain consistency that can't be taught,” Rue adds, “You either have it or you don’t. And I think out of all the practices we’ve had—there were only a few of our run throughs that didn’t look close, if not just as good as we did today. There are a lot of things we can perfect between the two of us but that will happen in time as we continue to find out more about each other. We’ve been together for a month, and I feel good about it. That’s half the battle.”

 

There are a few more questions, some of them more superficial than others and Thor feels like he’s drowning in this conference. Rue reaches for his hand, pulling it into her lap upon realization of just how uncomfortable he is. She’d always considered him to be dazzling in the spotlight, but she supposes a lot has happened that could have changed that outlook. Thor isn’t floundering per say—and he’s quite charming when he’s comfortable—but out of everyone in his talented family, he seems to be the least inclined to shine even when out of his element. He feels less alone in his own thoughts, under the scrutinizing lights pointed at them. The anxiety is rolling off of him in waves and he knows it.

 

Rue laughs at a question about her triple axel, if they’ll be the first couple to land them side by side. She looks at Thor and shrugs, smirking. “If he can land it.”

 

There’s a comfortable laugh that follows the joke. Thor snorts, shoving her shoulder while giving her an eye roll. As the laughter fades, Maria finally gets a chance ask her question, introducing herself calmly but with a sense of superiority.

 

“Hi Thor, how’re ya?” She stares at him with her writing pad and pen clasped in her hands. Her credentials are on display, hanging from a lanyard around the outside of her turtleneck sweater.

 

“Fine, thanks,” Thor sighs heavily, not even attempting to hide it.

 

“There was talks of maybe skating out of New York.” Laura begins unscrupulously, brows drawn in as she looks up from her writing pad, hoping to catch him off guard with information she knew that was hard to come by. “Are you enjoying the time you’ve had back here in your home country?”

 

“I’m always going to be an Asgard-based skater,” Thor replies evenly. “Whatever conversations had about skating under another flag, were not long-standing.” He had thought about staying there, but it wouldn’t have felt right, the last few times he’d flirted with the idea of repping anywhere but Asgard he just felt wrong about it. And even with his aching family ties, Asgard is still home. “But to answer your first question, I’m enjoying it well enough.” Maria smirks at his biting tone, enjoying it. She knows she gets underneath Thor’s skin—one of few people who don’t even attempt to lay themselves at the athlete’s feet.

 

She smiles at Rue easily before continuing casually. “The fans do seem to be very receptive. Asgard’s prodigal son returned from the western world,” Maria clears her throat as she pretends to think of the next question. “But I guess I want an answer for some of your more unbecoming decisions… we know your father played a big part in getting Valhalla SC opened and running decades ago—and I’m sorry for your loss—but would you say he’d be particularly proud of the way you’ve acted as of late?”

 

Thor feels the very second his heart falls out of his chest. The room is dead silent. For her part, Rue stares blankly as if trying to put the moment together in her head, as if this couldn’t be happening. She’s never had a problem with Maria, but in that case, she wants to throw the mic at the woman.

 

Inflammatory questions are the worst to field after a long day, when you just want to go home and go to bed. The press always want a sound bite or a tagline they can use. Thor exhales the breath he’s taken in to keep himself from losing it. His jaw twitches in anger as he swallows. She wants to step in but can’t find her voice, she does her best to glare.

 

She sees it happen before she can grasp for his hand again, in slow motion, camera flashes and the proctor’s voice sounds as if it’s underwater—Thor’s chair goes flying out behind him—and time is moments from stopping all together. The legs screech on the stage before it goes tumbling. And she turns to watch as Thor storms out among the murmuring.

 

Maria calls after him, with follow up questions, “Do you think about what he’d say to you being all over the tabloids? Subsequently, getting yourself banned from singles competition?”

 

There’s muffled yelling, someone telling someone else to fuck off. Rue can only sit there, eyes wide as attention turns to her now. She turns back to the press, those who are varying degrees of taken aback and shocked. She narrows her eyes, sight honing in on Maria.

 

She’s not going to do this, not with someone who looks so amused with themself. Damn Thor for playing right into it. But she can’t judge, she’d have lost it had it been directed at her. Angered for her partner, she clenches her jaw and begins to count back from ten. She must look insane, just sitting there.

 

When she’s calm enough, she gathers their belongings—his phone, and her personal water thermos—free hand taking the mic, she uses the time to address the journalist, “congratulations, you’ve shown an incredible lack of tact.”

 

.

.

.

 

“That went well,” Loki comments, leaning on the van door. They’re all set to head back to Nastrond. But he was sent him out to make sure Thor hasn’t punched a hole in one of the windows.

 

He’s always a little amused by the fact that he’s the one they send to corale his brother. The mischievous of the two brothers, he’s actually quite good at it—finding the right words.

 

When they were children; he’d been the one running around unbridled, tormenting people with practical jokes and just being a general pain in the ass. But of course, he’d taken to skating before Thor had.

 

He is the younger brother, he just seems to have found himself first.

 

(Then of course, Thor took skating too, getting the attention they’d always competed for. Just as they’ve grown older, Loki has accepted it… almost. He gets a kick out of being the one to clean up the messes—being needed this way—while also knowing just how to shake things up to amuse himself.)

 

Thor rolls his eyes, sitting on the wheel stop in the empty space over. He brings his knees up, elbows supported as he presses his fingers to his puffy eyes. He’s spent an embarrassing amount of time sitting out here, bleary eyed and emotional.

 

Their dead dad is a horrible talking point in any other situation except here—where he’s expected to be able to maneuver through uncomfortable talking points—and he’s reacted as expected. Lashing out in anger has become his schtick lately. Maria knew it, and now the video headline will accompany a scathing article about his inability to be a professional.

 

“I should have been prepared for that,” Thor finally says. More than he is angry at anyone else, he’s furious at himself for being such a screw up. He exhales, watching the hot air float through the chilly atmosphere. “I knew,” he adds, and Loki stands there and lets him berate himself.

 

Thor is hardheaded, and debate does little to change his mind when it comes to his own inner workings. It’s best to just let him get his self-pitying out of the way. He always was such a martyr, Loki thinks, plopping down on the curb between the lot spaces.

 

“You know what I’m going to say,” Loki sighs, folding his hands in his lap. “We should be able to talk about Father.” He knows from the look on his big brother’s face, it was the unwanted comment, harpooned by the tension that seems to have enveloped them. “You’re angry…but you also never tried to fix it.”

 

Thor rolls his eyes, “You were never the one expected to be perfect, Loki.”

 

“No, he just ignored me…” Loki says, sighing heavily. He just wanted to be loved by their father, told that coming in second to Thor was just as good as beating everyone else. He just wanted Odin to love him enough to get better. That never happened, but it’s because he stopped treating himself as the problem in their relationship. They were all more than enough. For a long time, he would have killed to be the focus of their Father’s drive. A part of him had hated Thor because of it.

 

Odin retired at the top of his career—blocked by a glass ceiling he could never break. He was one of the few athletes to compete in the Olympics. He didn’t win gold—he actually repeatedly placed fourth. He was good, unafraid of the ice. But that wasn’t enough. Asgard revered his attempts. He retired after his last Olympic performance and took to coaching, married, opened Valhalla SC and begrudgingly dedicated his life to guiding someone to the greatness he could never reach. It consumed him. And he’d failed in guiding many protégés, his best students were always his children. He pushed them every day, until the strain between the three of them was more than any of them could bare—more than Frigga could fix.

 

She tried to love him into understanding that he was doing damage to both of their sons. But by then, bitterness had shrouded every possible thought he had.

 

Odin used to pour bourbon in his coffee, started small of course, and then his problem progressed until it was mostly caffeine spiked bourbon. He died from his addiction, Frigga has said, mostly for her own benefit, to make it hurt less. But his god-complex—his alcoholism and the affinity for getting behind the wheel instead of asking someone to give him a ride that took him from them. Thor can’t forgive it, the idiocy of thinking himself so invincible. But it was so scary, because Thor can see himself there, being that dumb. Jaded and angry from the decline of his own career.

 

The timing had been terrible—or ironically sobering, depending on one’s perspective—in a time where he was being just as reckless. It terrified him.

 

Thor’s life pulled to a startling halt upon the realization that he was angry at a dead man. But he’d also been so angry, angry that Odin was so stupid to drink and drive, and it killed him. Sad that his father was never going to be a source of unyielding, unselfish love and support.

 

He hadn’t gone to the funeral, unable to face that they hadn’t been as close as they should have been. He’s angry that he’s never had a father, just always a coach asking more and more of him. And even when he was the best, Odin hadn’t been able to tell his son it was a job well done.

 

“You should go see him,” Loki finally attempts procurement, “Talk, cry, yell…” Thor scoffs. “You need to let some things go,” Loki says, “And isn’t your new thing about righting wrongs of the past?”

 

Sometimes it’s annoying how right the younger brother can be.

 

“Maybe,” Thor exhales, brushing a hand over his face. “How much damage did I do?”

 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Loki shrugs.

 

“You should be a better liar…how much you do it,” Thor muses, smirking at his brother.

 

“Ouch…” He over-dramatizes a wince, smirking as he looks down into the neck of his coat.

 

.

.

.

 

Rue elbows Thor while he stares out the back window of the van. He’s been quiet, and lost in his own thoughts. She expects that much, as he’s barely said a word since the conference. She’d hoped she could have found a way to speak to him properly after Loki came back to report that he was fine—but they were packing up to leave and it didn’t feel pressing while loading the van. But everyone is sleeping now, they’re _kind_ _of_ alone. 

 

She sticks his phone out in his direction. He hadn’t even noticed, and she just realized it was still in the pocket of her vest. 

 

“Oh,” he snorts, rolling his eyes at himself. “Thanks,” He takes the phone, clasping it in his hand as he’s given pause—he doesn’t want to read the texts or return them,  “I thought I lost it.” 

 

She offers a smile instead of words. There’s a lot she can say, and she can tell he’s waiting for her to rip into him for making them look unprofessional but she would have reacted no better. Instead she pats his knee, lingering long enough for him to grip her hand and give it a squeeze. They exchange nods of reassurance—they’re fine. 

 

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes quietly, trying not to disturb those around them who are sleeping while they can. “Instead of talking about our showcase, they’ll be talking about how I stormed out—“

 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Rue stops him; her hand is still in his, sitting on his thigh casually. Casual touch between them is normal, even if she’s been avoiding it when she puts that to thought. He doesn’t mind it. “Death is heavy stuff. I don’t know that I would have reacted much better.” She knew his father, had seen the man sweeping through the halls before he all but disappeared. He was never terrible to her, but more than absent enough that she doesn’t know much about him personally. But she had surmised the strain he was causing on his family in the months before his death. Loki was withdrawn, and Frigga was stressed. All of their relationships are starkly different from the one between herself and her now departed mother. 

 

“I expected you to tell me off, honestly,” he says to her, making a face in anticipation of it, still.  “And I deserve it. I made today about myself, and I didn’t mean to, but I still did.” 

 

“I think we’ll recover,” She says, lightly. “Besides...that’s not what I’m here for—scolding you. We’re partners.” She shrugs, smiling at him. “You know, despite the conference, I think we had a good day. We looked strong—your mom says we look good together.” 

 

Thor chuckles, feeling a weight lift at the change of subject. “She has to say that...this pairing is her brainchild.” He sparkles at the sight of her grin and the sound of her laugh. It feels good to not be drowning under the sadness of his father’s death. (He really should sort that out, but right now, he doesn’t want to face it. And he’s glad not to, at the moment.) “We were good. You were  _ great.”  _

 

She shoulder-checks him, blushing. She knows she’s talented, it’s just nice to hear from him—a prolific Olympian himself. “Thank you. So were you. The way you… you felt the music. I was…Impressed.” She swallows thickly, knowing she’s not saying what she means. Seeing him skate made her better today, and the emotions that washed over her, were more than she expected to come across. This is going to get awkward. “And they say you can’t dance.” She teases instead of letting them wallow in it. 

 

He laughs, too loudly. It startles Loki awake in the seat in front of them. Sif barely stirs beside him. 

 

“ _ Jesus _ ..” Loki clasps his chest. 

 

“Sorry,” Thor chuckles as his brother looks back at them. “Go back to sleep, your highness. Sorry to have disturbed your beauty sleep.”

 

“Fuck off,” Loki growls and settles again. Rue bites her finger to keep herself from laughing. 

 

“That was your fault,” Thor says, once it’s quiet again. 

 

“Definitely not... It’s not my fault you laugh like the jolly green giant.” Rue returns, faking her indignance. He snorts. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why this chapter is so angsty... but it’s what happened. There’s a bit of cute at the end of the chapter to make it better.

 

Thor wakes, slightly startled in the early morning hours; the chill of night still blowing in through his open window. There’s something unnerving about being back in his childhood bedroom—something that he’s remiss in admitting to himself—something that’s haunted his dreams the past week. The sinking feeling of realizing that this is not where he wants to be, is hard to say out loud, for fear that it’ll crush his mother’s spirits. He’s long since abandoned being passive-aggressive in that sense; hurting those he cares about to receive payback for his perceived slights. The young man he used to be, was such a _dick_.  
  
He lays prone in bed, too exhausted to move. He’s been such a log the last week, since his overreaction at the press conference. And no one in his circle seems to hold any ill-will over his dramatics, but he still hasn’t faced that his father’s death affects him in ways he’s always thought himself immune. There’s a lesson in it, but he’s not ready to heed it.  
  
Thor swallows thickly, rolling to sit up on the mattress, feet flat on the floor. His discarded clothes catch his eye where they sit in a haphazard pile. He’d torn himself out of them, after arriving at his mother’s house, and poured himself into bed. He presses the heel of his palm into his eyes, brushing sleep away. He curses his wretched body for waking so early on its own.

He’d come home to avoid his brother’s probing and Sif’s conspicuous grasps at caring. She offered him a drink (clearly misguided in her attempt to commiserate) and he’d unkindly declined. The banter between them was strained at best, since their younger years and she’d chosen his brother—someone who’d been available despite the work. Years later, now that Loki is happy, he can’t imagine why he’d ever buried himself so deeply in his career, he couldn’t see that he’d been happy with Sif: his childhood love. Maybe he would have saved himself the heartache of being so unhappy with his love-life.  
  
Either way, he has no time to be so ensconced by such childish memories. That was a lifetime ago. And he’d gone on to be a legendary talent. He didn’t need love—clearly it isn’t in the cards for him; if Jane’s rejection (and he knows just how mutual it seems) is anything to go by, he’s not made for it.

  
He pulls himself together, just barely, and starts his morning with a shower. The water is hot, and the pressure from the showerhead is enough to beat away some of the ache in his muscles. _I really need to replace that mattress… or find my own place._ The mirror above the sink is cloudy when he emerges from shower, body sated in more ways than one.

He brushes his teeth, avoiding the unimaginably tired look in his eyes reflecting back at him. He has no reason to be so tired. Rue is picking up his slack in practice, her hands on her hips in silent irritation. He feels guilty, for falling right back into negativity after she’d done her best to make him feel better. He feels the self loathing that comes with showing too much, being out of control of his own emotions.

  
But they float through the routine they built up in the past month. His mind is on the skate when he moves around the familiar kitchen, dressed, and attempting to avoid waking Frigga before he’ll eventually leave.

Heimdall has them skating to the sound of Sia’s emotive version of _Diamonds_ . The tension between them is beautiful he says; even if they don’t realize it’s there. Rue is content enough to keep it unlabeled as such. They’re good actors, she’s said, and he’d smiled beside himself. She’s been the rock between them, and he has no business getting used to that dynamic. This whole endeavor has been for him. And despite her physical setbacks in the last year, she’s brilliant, and he’d do well to mimic her ability let the past go the way she can.  

He finally picks up his phone, from where it’s sat on the kitchen counter since the night before. He’s received tweets from just about everyone looking for a reaction to the headlines. But he ignores them all. That is, until he sees something that can be interpreted as positive. He skims through it, snorting at the snippet he reads.

  
_[Despite the less than favorable end to the day, Thor Borsen doesn’t seem to be far from reaching another gold. The partnership he’s found himself in reeks of potential and latent sexual tension. Now, there’s no need to do too much speculating on either of the Asgardian’s love lives (...yet) but watching them skate together…it’s undeniable, the chemistry between them. And it was hard to not love the story they were aiming for—speaking to the real world downward spiral his career took in the last few years._ **_Unsteady_ ** _was a solid song choice, speaking to Heimdall Peterson’s understanding of what he’s working with. Unsurprising, considering just how long he’s coached the wayward Olympian._  
_Thor is known for striking programs, his strength and showcasing his command of skill. But his partner, Rue Siegmund (who took_ **_gold_ ** _in Sochi’s ladies’ event), is the perfect blend of grace and control. She’s coming off a disappointing knee injury, and missed the last season, but you’d never know from the way she performed. Taking your eyes off of her is a feat in itself. And if you watch their skate and manage it, congrats on being better than every one of my coworkers who I wrangled into watching._  
_There are of course plenty of things they’d like to work on—their timing was a little off at some spots, their throws maybe a little overshot—but those things will get better, Rue is known for her dedication to being as close to perfect as humanly possible. And obviously, they make quite the talented pair. It shouldn’t be hard to shore up execution._ _  
_ If nothing else, the pair has debuted at the perfect time—with enough time to iron out the kinks while aiming for Pyeongchang.]

  
Thor snorts, but his amusement and reading stops there. He doesn’t know just how complimented he should feel, but he figures it could be worse. The article could blatantly sneer at him for being a screw up, and wish him the worst. But clearly, they love Rue. And right now, he’ll take it. That was the plan anyway. Rack up some favor by who he’s chosen to skate with. And they’re not wrong, Rue is brilliant. And she handles him better than most should. He’s been a pain, he knows.

  
“Good morning,” his mother’s tired voice filters through the quiet of scrolling through his phone. “You’re up early.” He ruffles his hair, like he’s a child again; kissing the top of his head and patting his shoulders.

He looks up at her, adjusting his posture in the wooden chair, “uh, yeah…Couldn’t sleep. Sorry if I woke you.” He reaches for his mug of coffee. Black, two sugars. He swirls the hot drink, bringing it to his mouth. He looks at her over the side of the mug, as she pours herself one and turns. Her hair is in rollers and she stands overly still for a few long moments. “Mom?”  
  
She remembers herself and turns to him, faking a smile, “hm?”  
  
“Did I wake you?” He asks, brows etched with concern for her instead of himself. He’s been a terrible son really. The guilt settles in. He wasn’t there, he still somehow isn’t even though he’s sitting in her kitchen.  
  
She shakes her head, leaning for the fridge to grab some milk. She pours a lot, a lot more than he’d dare drink, but it reminds her of how much Odin used to take… before his habit got so bad there was no room for milk. She looks elsewhere, like she was somehow still asleep and he he doesn’t dare venture into asking her to elaborate. His mother has always been more internal—someone who expresses herself best on the ice—and he will probably do a shit job of comforting her. He hasn’t been the place to go for comforting any of his family members in years.

  
That’s hard to swallow. But they both move to drink their coffee; there’s silence.

 

.  
  
.  
  
.

 

  
**_Valhalla Skate Club_ ** ****  
  
  
  
Rue breathes in the cold from the ice, setting her skate-cladded feet firmly on the floor and grips her thighs. She let herself in this morning. She rarely uses the key Frigga gave her years ago, but today she craves the skate on freshly paved ice. Volstagg doesn’t mind that he can barely get the zambo off the ice before she’s on it, but today it appears she’s missed him.

  
She adjusts her hair, braiding it out of her face, not particularly minding that a few curls stick out and keep the plait from being a smooth French braid. She zips up her grey hoodie and adjusts the waistband of her leggings before venturing out onto the ice. She’s sufficiently stretched and her muscles warmed before she makes a few laps around the rink. The scrape of her skates on the ice brings a happy smile of her face. After a few rounds, she works backward, her shapely leg fanning upward reaching for the ceiling before coming back down gracefully.

  
There’s something about the solitude there, that brings her back to life after a fitful night of dreamless sleep. This is where she feels alive, where she feels at home. Yeah, the practice and repetition, the dedication could overwork anyone if they let it, but this is where she thrives.

  
She spins effortlessly, changing levels and standing again through different positions, ending with her arms high above her head before she steps out of the spin. She dances and twirls to the simple sound of her own skates.

  
The Olympian does single flips, working her way to more than one twist. She thinks of Thor then; his first day back and the first thing he’d thrown was a double salchow. She snorts at the memory. Thinking of him now though, and his week with the same downtrodden mood, brings a frown. She shakes it away, knowing she can’t begrudge his emotions—though, it feels like he’s icing everyone out.

  
(She does the double salchow, and lands easily, her knee solid beneath her.)

  
Thor is…sad.

He’s sad, not wanting to admit it. But she won’t pull it out of him, not wanting to overstep and make things worse. He’d been relatively okay on the bus ride, and they’d cracked jokes, and shared smiles. But she knows it’s not easy to forget days that really shake you. And the more time she’s spent with Thor, the more she’s realized just as easily, that the man can juggle his sadness with being present enough not to leave her in a pile on the ice. He skates with the same capability, but somehow robotic in he movements despite his emotional pain. He pulls away as if burned every time she touches him, and so she gone back to avoiding his hands as long as she can.  
  
The routines Heimdall has given to them (not that calling out different directions over the music is really a tangible thing), two separate programs dreamt up by the brilliant coach. Their short is something fun, not as packed as her individual one, but with their skill, it will be clean. And if she can be known for anything, it’s her ability to make anything _look_ flawless.

The jumps and separation between them leaves room to show off just how capable they are, but when they move together—they’re faltering. It’s not so apparent in the short, but their free skate will benefit from the close quarters of the practice (the concessions hallway). They’ll look silly hopping around in their socks, but she’ll much rather that, than deal with being dropped because his mind is elsewhere while on the ice.

Frustrating as it is, she still understands. He hasn’t dealt with Odin’s death, nor the reaction he has when it’s brought up. And that’s fine (not really, but who is she to judge him?) though now it’s getting in their way. So much so that she’s decided she’s going to address it if he’s not in a better mood today. Heimdall seems content to let him work through it, but she isn’t, not so much.  
  
With a sigh, she decides not to dwell on it. It’s hours before she expects him to show up. The rink is closed until the recital later in the evening anyways, she has it to herself for the time being.

  
It doesn’t take her long to start on her old short. What was a number brought to life with _Valkyrie_ by _A Blaze of Feather_ , is a memory she holds with her even now. She remembers the sound of the lyrics, soft, while they hauntingly blended with the track. And she’d skated it with poise, grace, and attack—it was second nature.

She maneuvers through the steps, spins, flips and jumps, feeling victorious because she can remember it and still execute it—kind of. The skater leaves out the triple axel, replacing it with a simple double flip. She’d best not tempt fate into screwing with her knee it today. Besides, she’s just taking a few moments to be alone, doing what she couldn’t over her hiatus. It’s nice to not have her doctors and her coach fussing over her fretting. She’d never admit it, but she absolutely was insufferable leading to the moment she was cleared.

  
Rue stumbles towards the edge of the rink when she hears the doors opening and slamming shut behind whoever is there. There aren’t many options, but she wasn’t expecting anyone to be there.

(Volstagg was only there that morning—she suspects—because he hates running into people even more than he hates when she plops down into a chair across from him, to pick at his lunch with him. She hasn’t done that in a while…he’s never around to let her.)

  
Thor rounds the corner, his skates slung over his shoulder like hockey players like to do. He didn’t seem the type for such a thing, such a macho visual, but there he is. He holds a coffee tray in hand, on the same side where his gym bag hangs from his shoulders. His mother trails behind him, waves and nods toward her office, to say that's where she’ll be should they need her. Her lifetime coach has been just as withdrawn as her son, and Rue curses that damned Maria Hill for it. For her stupid invasive, probative questioning. She watched the damned conference, smiling at the beginning, remembering the moments her hand had found his to give him some comfort.

  
“Good morning,” he offers softly, holding out the unnecessary tray he carries before to setting it on the edge she leans on. “I bought coffee…”

 “Hope not…” she does well not to grin at him. Taking the large cup, sniffing it to find that it’s Chai. She twirls the cup, reading that it’s with soy. _He remembered._ She takes a sip, and he waits in anticipation to see if he’s gotten it right. “Thank you,” She says. She places the cup on the ledge, but still keeps her hand wrapped around it.  
  
He surveys the ice while pulling out his water bottle from his bag, “Been here long?” He asks, whilst starting to stretch. He does it just barely, even though he’s just finished his drink before arriving. But he’s aching to get on the ice. He needs to clear his head, shake away the haunted feeling in himself. He’s fine. He’s _fine._  
  
“Not really… got here at half past 5.” She shrugs at the way his eyes widen. “I’ve been up since 3. I gave up trying to fall asleep.” She watches his expression cloud with sympathy—he appears just as tired today as he has all week—and she remembers the talk she wants to have with him. She sips her drink to prolong the silence, just as he’s kicking off his trainers. “Hey…”

  
He looks up, brows lifted in waiting of what’s to follow. He can see the thinly veiled concern, her face more expressive than her words. If she’s not rolling her eyes at him, she’s leveling him with a challenging brow. This time it’s neither and he knows what she’s going to say.

 “I’m fine… sorry I’ve been so spacey.”

  
She nods, realizing just how little he wants to talk about the topic. But she can’t let it go, “You say that… but I don’t believe you. You’re the one who doesn’t look like you’ve slept.” She does well to not sound so concerned—like a mother hen—because she’s told him, she’s not here to scold him.

 “Don’t worry about me,” he says, and she can’t decipher if he tone is meant to be so cold, yet demanding. But it is. Is it possible for someone’s voice to feel like a physical shove? She doesn’t know why it’s bothering her so much that he can’t breathe a word of his personal demons to her. It’s too soon; and she knows it. But she’s putting a lot of trust in his ability to compartmentalize. And she worries that Heimdall won’t be too happy to let them just move through the motions for much longer. At some point they’re going to have to connect like they had for the exhibition. And if they’re meant to compete… well… this isn’t going to work. They have a month to prepare for _Skate America_ , in Chicago. “I just needed—I’m fine. Today will be better. And don’t worry about Heimdall.” He’s noticed his coaches attempt at pulling something other than the steps out of him—though he couldn’t find the strength to give it.

“I’m not… _I’m_ worried today will be the day you drop me because you’re not all _here_ .” She grits her teeth, momentarily more upset at herself for being so annoyed. He stops, staring at her with a palpable skepticism that makes her want to roll her eyes. “Don’t look at me like I shouldn’t be concerned. You’re not yourself.”

  
“I wasn’t aware that you’re an expert on what I’m normally like,” He snaps, his expression giving away his irritation. Damn it, he didn’t want to talk about it. This is the very topic he didn’t want to broach today. “Tell me… what mood would put you most at ease?”

  
“Not a specific mood,” she begins, having sucked in a breath, because he’s _baiting_ her. “Though you could stop being a jackass, for one thing,” she suggests, with less of a knee jerk reaction. “You’re upset about the reporter—“

  
“I couldn’t care less about _her_ ,” Thor says, less angry than he’d been at Maria the night of, when they’d discussed it. It’s the sight of Rue’s face, like she’s schooling her annoyance for his benefit. He’d attempted at picking a fight, and clearly all she is, is concerned for him. He _is_ being a jackass. He drags a hand over his face, thumb and pointer pulling at corners of his lips before he scrubs at his beard in frustration.

“Either way,” she goes on, teeth gritted. “You’re not here…and I’d rather deal with your perfectionist attitude than your mind being on some other _planet_ …” she explains, and he understands because he knows what he’s been doing—that he’s been so stuck in his repentant guilt. Her expression softens as he looks away from her keen eyes. She reaches to grab his wrist, squeezing, “I know it’s none of my business and you don’t have to talk to me, but you should talk to someone before it gets to be too much.”  
  
He agreed to get a partner, and somehow ended up with a life coach. The wayward gold medalist can’t pretend any anger would be righteously directed at her. Rue has been the epitome of supportive these last few days, letting him feel what the feels. But she hasn't signed on to dealing with such things, and he’s being unfair.

 _He_ needs _her_ , not the other way around.

  
Thor leans on the edge, elbows planted. His head bows, letting the moment hit. He could drown in all he’s feeling. Regret, mourning, and the feeling of hollow anger in his gut. His father isn’t here for anything to be discussed. It sucks, the realization that he’ll never get to say what should’ve been said. He scoffs, more annoyed at himself for burying his emotions. Rue hesitantly reaches for his shoulder as a sign of solidarity, and he drops his hand to cover hers as he looks up at her. “I’m sorry. I’m here today…I swear. I’ll get it together.”

  
They don’t have time to deal with his volatile emotions. And he shouldn’t have expected her to just ignore his sour moods.

  
She shakes her head, squeezing his shoulder again before pulling her hand from his grasp. “I’m sorry if I’m being… I dunno… for being a bitch just then.”  
  
He laughs, a quick snort. “You weren’t being a bitch… though I’m curious to see what that would actually be like.” _No, I probably really don’t,_ he thinks. He takes her hands and steps around the rink’s edge, turning to glide towards the center of the ice. “Today will be better.” And he doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, but he draws her in, wrapping his arms around her as they turn slowly. He presses a kiss to her temple. “Sorry.”  
  
“Stop apologizing,” she says, and the intimacy of her hushed tone and the way she sets her chin on his chest to look up at him, isn’t lost on her. But it doesn’t feel odd. It’s nice, letting him hold her like this. The way he exhales in her embrace let’s her know that he needs it. And maybe she does too. She allows herself to acknowledge that she’s feel like he’s been pushing her away after they’d gotten comfortable. She was starting to think she’d imagined that. She grips under his arms, still looking up at him, letting a ghost of a smile past her lips.

Heimdall finds them casually wrapped in an embrace, laughing at something or the other, and smiles. _Good, they can get to work._


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it probably feels like I’ve been gone for so long. Life has been crazy, but I’ve had time to jot this down. 
> 
> I’m still not over the way End Game seemed to BUTCHER their bond. Oh well, that’s what fanfic is for.

Brunnhilde winces as she hits the ice, hard off the triple loop throw. She slaps her palm on the ice, before getting to her feet, rushing to catch up with her partner. Heimdall hasn’t stopped them, they’re to keep going, running through their short as if it were the day of their competition.

 

She can see the look of disappointment reflecting on Thor’s face as she bites down her bitter annoyance at herself. She knows they shouldn't expect perfection, but she hates falling. It feels like such an avoidable thing. She hates being the one having to catch up. She’s not used to being behind the curve. And the Olympian is more than thoroughly annoyed that Thor seems to just _belong_ —not at all labored from exertion, or his time off. She’s screwed up so much, his normally endearing qualities are starting to be glaring holes in what she brings to the table.

 

In the last week, they’ve been working hard, and he’s holding up better than she is. She can’t seem to catch her footing, nerves getting the best of her. It’s starting to reflect in her performance. Frustration has been far too common now, which is far more annoying after they’d skated before near flawlessly.

 

They have a lot to live up to.

 

The injury, her torn ligaments and the surgery that repaired her damaged knee are eating away at her confidence in her ability. What if she can’t compete anymore, what if she’s just going to pull Thor down with her? What if she’s going to do more harm than good? What if… what if…what if.

 

“Stop…” Heimdall calls heavily. He can see the dejection in her shoulders, the heaviness of her strides. She looks clunky. And Rue is never _clunky_. He throws the stereo remote in the air, snatching it again. “You’ll get it,” He nods at her, “Take it from the top. Places.”

 

She’d suddenly rather be hooked up to a pulley, working on her axel. The figure skater would probably be less inclined to throw up.

 

“What’s the matter?” Thor asks, as they find their marks. His brows are furrowed with worry and Rue wants to reach up to smooth the lines away. She’s seen that expression etched on his features far too much for her own liking. And the Olympian doesn’t need him worrying over her.

 

“I’ll get it,” she says instead. It’s much easier to say that than it is to tell him she’s worried she’s holding him back.

 

“Hey..” He turns her to face him, “aren’t you the one who’s says we shouldn’t get too much in our own heads?”

 

Rue frowns, throwing her head back as he smirks down at her. “Yes,” she huffs, pulling her head back up to look at her partner. “Yeah, yeah… I’m just… I don’t know. I’m—“

 

“Do you need a break?” Thor asks, immediately looking to Heimdall. Their coach looks slightly exasperated, but he can see that something is on Rue’s mind. It’s not productive to let it fester.

 

“No,” Rue shakes her head. “Just a second, to exhale.” She's tense, and soon she’ll work herself right into a panic.

 

 _You’re an Olympic champion, godsdammit!_ She internally bellows at herself, ringing out her hands. Thor squeezes her shoulders, feeling her shudder under his hands. She nods when she’s ready.

 

They start at the beginning. Thor grips her tighter, steadier, and gives her a nod. “Relax,” he encourages, “I've got you.” He smiles confidently, a twinkle of determination in his eyes as he pulls her closer, before he’s to throw her up in the air. They’ve been working on a quad twist, and she’s tiny enough to twist four times, and he’s strong enough to get her high in the air. He catches her with room to spare, setting her back on her skates. There will be a boost to their numbers that will give them a comfortable cushion should something go awry.

 

With grace and delicacy, they are the picture of perfection and unison. They reach for each other with yearning, soft expressions and light touches. They set their feet into the spread eagle position, mirroring each other as they cross the ice.

 

Rue lets herself feel the music as they get into the space of the routine. It’s easy to put her trust in him, once she lets go—when she reminds herself that this is a partnership. It’s required, but flows so easily.

 

Their combination jumps are perfect, both landing solidly on the ice. Heimdall nods with satisfaction as they round past him, their skates crossing as they pass, backwards. Finger tips brush until they firmly grasp each other’s hands and he pulls her in to balance on his thighs. They create fluid lines and their entries and dismounts are smooth. 

 

Near the end of the routine, comes the triple throw. She digs in, just as Thor offers her momentum a push. With renewed confidence, she twists, landing with her skate solidly beneath her. It’s a deeper landing than she would have liked, but it’s a landing nevertheless. She pumps her fist, smiling to herself.

 

Frigga smiles as she comes down the bleachers to stand beside her long time friend, Heimdall. She gently tugs the sleeve of his shirt, getting his attention casually. “They seem to be doing well.”

 

“I’d hope so, by this point,” He teases, unfolding his arms as he turns to look at her. “Take 5!” He calls to them. Rue throws herself at her partner, Thor’s bellowing laughter echoes in the rink. They race to the edge to grab their water bottles. They’re lost in talking to each other. And it’s a marked difference from the weeks before, when Thor was withdrawn. 

 

Frigga’s smile widens into a grin. “Have you read their reviews?”

 

“I caught a few. A lot of them about latent sexual tension and how good they look together.” Heimdall rolls his eyes.

 

“You know that’s how it is now—people like pretty things in even prettier packages.” The now-sole owner of the rink shrugs. They both sit on the bottom row of the bleachers as she sighs. “I didn’t think they’d reconcile after the conference.”

 

“Thor knows this is important,” Heimdall replies evenly. “And despite his best effort to ignore what was bothering him… Brunhilde got it out of him—without much of a fight from what I can tell.”

 

“That’s my Rue,” Frigga laughs.

 

They discuss the rest of the schedule for the day, and finalize some more travel plans before Heimdall reaches his hand for hers. He squeezes gently, searching her face before he even asks his question.

 

“How’re you holding up?” He asks, knowing just how jarring the mention of her husband’s death still racks her heart.

 

She sighs heavily, shaking her head just as weightily. She turned her head, considering him with an uplifted chin and watery eyes. “I didn’t think it would be a talking point—my mistake. And so I’m dealing with it about as well as my son is.”

 

Grief is a tricky thing, heavy and reminiscent. But she’s used to being flooded by the memory of Odin. They’d been married so long, she remembers him in everything—and his sickness seems to weigh every one of those memories down. With Thor’s return to the spotlight, the fact that Odin was ripped from her life so suddenly...her heart feels freshly broken again. He had his faults—plenty really—but she still loved him dearly.

 

She’s heartbroken for herself, heartbroken for her sons. The two of them weren’t close with their father in his last days. And she feels responsible for it. She hadn’t pushed them to resolve the pain and resentment. Odin hadn’t seen anything beyond himself on those last few months—stubbornly digging his heels in when he’d so badly needed to accept help. She couldn’t be angry, she knew it wasn’t _him._ It wasn’t her husband taking out all his frustrations on her and their children, it was the alcohol. And she couldn’t blame Loki and Thor, they’d never gotten the bond with their father that they’d all sorely needed.

 

When he’d met his end, it felt like everyone was sad for her, because she’d still found it in herself to love her husband. And now he’s not here to help fix the damage that had been done.

 

Sometimes she wonders what kind of mother she was… and wasn’t. What kind of parent let her children drown themselves in their need to just be _adequate_ to a father that would never have been clear headed enough to notice?

 

“Frig?” Heimdall ponders, bucking her shoulder with his. She plasters a fake smile on her face. The conversation dies then, when Rue and Thor make their way over, arms linked as they approach.

 

Rue’s strong turn to a stop cuts the silence. “Hey, have you been here the entire time?” She asks, oblivious. “Did you see me land the loop?”

 

“I haven’t been down here long… but I did see. Clean up the landing and it’ll be perfect.” Frigga winked at her, in the same moment sucking back her urge to cry. Thor notices, the frown between his brows deep and pronounced. He leans on the barrier, elbows just at the edge. He opens his mouth to ask her if she’s alright when she continues. “I was just telling Heimdall that I think you two are nearly ready.”

 

Heimdall finds the fib to be unnecessary but says nothing. Thor and Rue would understand she’s not quite feeling herself, offput by the disastrous conference they’d all witnessed. But it’s not his issue to unpack with mother and son. The Borsens are a stubborn clan.

 

“Oh, I dunno about that!” Rue laughs. She twists her fingers around the end of her braid, chuckling nervous. “We still have some things to iron out.”

 

“Minor details.” Thor shrugs. “Hey, aren’t you the one who told me you can’t work with someone who freaks out over the details?”

 

“When did I say that?” Rue asks, feigning confusion. She knows exactly what he’s referencing. She sticks her tongue out at him.

 

“You’ll be ready when the time comes,” Heimdall mediates. October would be upon them in no time.

  



End file.
